


Your Familiar

by brucebannerfangirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Crime Scenes, F/M, Familiar!Mycroft, Heavy Violence, Humor, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, cat!Mycroft, cat!lock, familiar!Sherlock, warlock!John, warlock!Moriarty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:51:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucebannerfangirl/pseuds/brucebannerfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, John never intended to become a magician, but when there was nothing left to save his sister he turned to a different form of medical treatment. Upon returning to London, he hadn't the slightest clue how to be what he had become until he came across a mysterious starving cat in a ginnel that followed him home.</p><p>(discontinued, sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another collaboration story with my friend Kitty. She's the one who came up with this story idea so most credit goes to her~

It was a rather cold evening that January night while walking home from the clinic he worked at. John was minding his own when he heard a shrill cry of pain followed by a harsh hiss and then a low growl. John nearly stopped in his tracks when he heard the ruckus that had startled him so. He peered into the ginnel to find the culprit of the pained cry and a pair of striking grey-blue eyes looked back at him. John took a step forward and clicked his tongue several times, hoping to coax the cat out. “Here kitty, kitty.” he called softly.

 

The cat let out a long, low growl as John approached it, arching it’s back to appear more intimidating. It almost looked like a drowned rat, John thought upon closer inspection. “It’s okay kitty; I’m not gonna hurt you.” The cat laid his back straight down, it’s eyes still holding his gaze. John held his hand out a few millimeters away from the cat now. “Come now kitty, it’s alright.” It was weird, John thought. He’d never really cared for cats, but perhaps it was his nature to nurture things that were hurt that drew him to the cat.

 

The cat sniffed his hand cautiously and curiously before butting it’s damp head against it. John smiled triumphantly and gently pet the cat’s head. When he pulled his hand away, he noticed a smeared patch of blood there and looked back at the cat. Sure enough, there was a wound by it neck, from teeth not doubt, and a few scratches. “Come here, girly.” John said softly and picked up the cat. He assumed it was a girl cat from the bites on the nap of the neck- the poor thing probably got jumped by a tom.

 

As John walked home, he was surprised that the cat hadn’t struggled, only squirming a few times presumably to get comfortable. He had maneuver her around to get the door to his flat open. It wasn’t until they reached the sitting area that the cat jumped out of his hold. “Careful kitty.” He said as he watched her explore the room, sniffing furniture and looking at things. She had finally settled under the couch where she could still keep her eyes on John and be out of reach.

 

John made his way over slowly, being careful not to spook her, and laid on his stomach to look at her. “Come out of there, I need to patch you up before you get too cozy.” he said softly, reaching out to touch her again. She swatted at his hand. “Oi, there’s no need for that. You didn’t mind me touching you before.” He tried again but she crawled out herself before he got to her. John half hearted glared at the she-cat before he scooped her up and brought her to the kitchen.

 

“Now, this is the only time I’m allowing you on the counter so if i spank you for getting up here again, you’ve been warned.” He said sternly, placing her on the countertop near the sink. “Stay put I’ll be right back.” John left to fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom. The cat didn’t move at all except to lay down where she had been placed, much to John’s satisfaction when he returned.

 

Placing the kit next to the cat, took a washrag and wet it with warm water and cleaned the areas that were noticeably bleeding. “You’re a very pretty cat.” John cooed, trying to sooth the poor thing- it clearly wasn’t liking getting rubbed down with the cloth. After cleaning off the wounds he looked through the kit and took out a small tube of antibiotic ointment and a few cotton buds. With practiced hands he put the ointment on the cotton tips and lightly coated the wounds.

 

“It’s okay,” John said as the cat moved away and growled at him. “This will help you, girly.” John held her as still as he could with on hand and continued to spread the ointment with the other. When he let go of her because he was finished she bolted off the counter and ran back to her hiding place. He chuckled to himself and put the stuff back before settling down in the living room with his laptop.

 

John began looking up things that would make his flat a happy home for cat to live in, temporary or not. He had no idea if Mrs. Hudson, his landlady, allowed pets in the flat. He figured a litter box, a food and water dish, and possible a couple toys should be good for now. “Right then, I’ll get you a few things then, girly. I won’t be gone long.” John said setting his laptop down and went to go get his coat. Once he put it on and went to the door he realized he’d left his wallet on the coffee table so he went back and to his surprise there was a man in living room. A naked man in his living room.

 

“Who the- How did you-” John swallowed thickly and turned his gaze from the naked man before him. “Who are you and how did get in here?” he said finally.

 

“My name is Sherlock Holmes and I believe you carried me through that very door.” The deep, rich voice said rather blandly. “I’m not a girl either.” The man stated matter-of-factly before adding, “As I’m sure you’re aware now.”

 

John’s jaw dropped, “How the hell can- You can’t possibly be serious. Is this some sort of joke?” He asked and forced out a laugh. “Was it Harry? Did she put you up to this?”

 

“No one put me up to anything.” Sherlock said and sat down on the sofa, much to John’s distress. The man also made no move to cover himself and didn’t care that John could see everything.

 

“Why are you here then?” John asked, arms not folded across his chest and a stern look in his eyes.

 

“As I’ve said before, you brought me here. Carried me in like a helpless little creature.” There was a hint of loathing in his voice. “Also, I’m sure you’ll notice your little “girly” is gone now.” John looked nearly horrified at that and made to speak but Sherlock beat him to it. “I didn’t kill her for god sakes. ‘She’ infact never existed because ‘she’ wasn’t a she it was a he as in I.”

 

John leaned up against the wall needing support. “Christ what’s going on?” he asked himself. There was a long pause between them. “Turn into a cat.” John murmered quietly.

 

“Pardon?” Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.

 

“I said turn into a cat.” John repeated and looked at Sherlock intensely. “If you can turn from a cat to a human you must be able to turn into a cat again yeah?”

 

“I only turned back into a human because my energy is drained.” Sherlock growled back. “I can’t change into a cat at the moment. I need rest and food.”

 

“What are you then, some sorta shapeshifter?” John asked cautiously walking into the living room to sit in his chair.

 

Sherlock smiled. “Very close but no. I’m a familiar.”

 

“A familiar? Like the things witches keep as pets in story books?” John asked.

 

Sherlock glared at him. “I am NOT a thing.” he hissed. “I’m a companion to magic wielders of all kinds, not just witches.”

 

John put his hands up in a submissive manner. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry.” he apologized. He cleared his throat and leaned forward a bit. “So, are you a… companion to anyone then?”

 

“No, I prefer to be on my own.” Sherlock said defensively.

 

“Right, okay. Why did you let me take you in then?” he asked curiously.

  
“Because of your magic.”


	2. Chapter 2

John and Sherlock held each others gazes for what felt like an eternity. “You must have me mistaken.” John said calmly.  

 

Sherlock looked rather insulted by that statement. “I’m not fool, Sir. I’m a creature of magic and if you think for one second that I cannot tell the difference between someone who is magical and one who is not, then you are clearly an idiot!” He growled, standing up so suddenly John stepped back. “Forget it, you obviously know nothing of our kind. You’re new to this, aren’t you? In fact, you don’t know the first thing to being a warlock.”

 

John’s light blue eyes flared, partly from shock but mostly from fury. He opened his mouth to snap back at Sherlock, who was giving him an icy glare, but paused for a moment.

 

“I’ve never met another… you know…” John said slowly, still staring at him with cold anger, “I always thought it was fake. I didn’t think there were others.”

 

Sherlock scoffed “What makes you so special?”

 

“I’m not. That’s the point.” John scowled, “But look at you, acting like you’re so high above me because you actually seem to have a clue about what all this is.”

 

Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “I am above you.” His voice was deep and commanding. “I am smarter, quicker, more agile than you are. And, most importantly, I have a firm knowledge on this subject which you, on the other hand, do not. Do you realise how dangerous that is, to become a warlock for the mere fun of it?”

 

John didn’t speak for a moment, his head lowered and hands clenched. “You know nothing about me.” he growled looking up at the man. “You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve sacrificed!” John was visible shaking with anger. Who did this stranger think he was? He knew the risks of using magic- what it could do to his mind.

 

The creature stiffened, clearly taken back by John’s barking. Sherlock collected himself quickly though, his eyes changed from stunned to calculating. “You are a retired army doctor, either from Afghanistan or Iraq, who was discharged due to an injury to the shoulder. You have a brother, this Harry as you mentioned before. The reason you took up Magics was to help someone dear to you, this Harry I imagine. He’s an alcoholic whose wife had left him, but something happened, something even more tragic.”

 

John took a step back from Sherlock, eyeing him angrily. “Was that some sort of magic trick?” he snapped back. “Are you some sorta stalker?” Despite the fury he felt boiling inside, a strange, cooling sense of curiosity began to spill over him.

 

Sherlock snorted at him, his lips curling into a almost cheshire like grin. “Anyone with a functioning brain could deduce that. All the signs are there, you just have to look.”

 

John folded his arms across his chest trying his best to look unimpressed. “What makes it so obvious?” The man smiled even more, but before he could speak something interrupted them.

 

“I wouldn’t get him started if I were you, Dr. Watson.” a cold, steady voice came from the doorway. The man was wearing an elegantly tailored suit, clearly someone of importance.

 

Sherlock let out an audible hiss at the intruder. “What do you want, Mycroft?”

 

“Who the bloody hell are you?! What the fuck is going on?” John shouted in frustration.

 

The well dressed man, Mycroft, walked into the flat, holding out a bag for Sherlock. “They’re clothes- please do put them on, little brother.” The man turned to John, an almost apologetic look in his eyes. “Please forgive my brother; he’s very… eccentric, to say the least. He’ll be out of your hair in no time, and I apologize for the inconvenience.”

 

John pursed his lips for a moment, he was trying to take everything in. “How did you find my house?”

 

“Surveillance cameras, of course. He ran away, again, but by the time I managed to find him, and to my surprise I saw you taking him in. Fate is rather curious, is it not?”

 

John forced a laugh at that. “So you’re the stalker, not him? That’s just lovely. What’s your father then, an assassin? A government spy? Who are you people?” John demanded.

 

Mycroft’s eyes flickered away from John, as if he was no longer interested in their conversation. “Sherlock,” He said, voice smooth like honey, “I’m going to need you to come back with me if you really don’t plan on staying. We’ve been through this before, and I’m not risking it again.”

  
  


“I’m not a child, Mycroft. You can’t make me leave with you if I don’t want to. Besides,” Sherlock huffed, unable to keep eye contact, “I’m staying this time.”

 

“Do I get in a say in any of this?” John asked.

 

“No.” Sherlock stated simply. “A familiar chooses who they’ll be a companion with, regardless whether or not the other wants them to be.”

 

“That’s ridiculous, what makes you think I want any part in this?” John snapped.

 

“Because you’re making yourself sick. You’re bored, John, and you’re tired. You’re so sick I can smell it.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” John growled, his voice lower.

 

“You haven’t been the same since the war.” Sherlock murmured, “When you were discharged, everything that was once normal seemed so painfully raw. The war kept you on your feet, kept you running. Not away from danger, but towards it. Now there is nothing. Nothing since that incident with your brother-”

 

“Sherlock, I think that’s enough now.” Mycroft spoke suddenly, watching John at the opposite end of the room. The soldier’s back was straight, his shoulders square and jaw tight. ‘Every bit the soldier, aren't you Dr. Watson?’ Mycroft thought to himself. He had hoped John would hit Sherlock to make him back off, but it wasn’t in the good doctor’s nature to do something so rash. “Now please, Sherlock, get dressed so we may leave this man in peace.”

 

Sherlock sneered at Mycroft, “I already told you Mycroft- I’m not leaving.” He did, however, begin to dress himself with the clothes Mycroft had provided. The new cloths felt so alien to him and itched against his now soft skin, but John seemed to relax a bit more after that.

 

Mycroft, with his back straight and hand propped against the umbrella, glared at his brother. It was not a hateful grin, merely an icy warning. “Why him?” He asked, the edge of his lips curling into a grin.

 

Sherlock did not return the gaze. “Because, Mycroft, I need a place to stay and this one is looking for a flatmate. A perfect match.”

 

“How did you know-” John was cut off before he could even finish his question.

 

“This place is too pricey for you to keep up by yourself, even with your job at the clinic.

I just happen to know of an inexpensive flat nearby with two bedrooms; one upstairs and one downstairs. It’s far better than… you call this a flat?”

 

John glared back at him. “What makes you think I’ll take you up on your offer?”

 

“Because for once, since your time abroad, there’s some pint of excitement in your life. You’ve been asking me questions since I changed.” Sherlock flicked his wrist, as if John should have known this.

 

“That’s because you were a cat!” John groaned.

 

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. “You shouldn’t have been surprised, considering-”

 

“That’s quite enough, Sherlock.” Mycroft growled. John eyes Mycroft for a moment, he noticed something change in the cold man’s eyes. The dark irises turned to slits for a brief moment, then switched back to the cold, vacant glare.

 

Sherlock returned the icy gaze, a drop of fury in his eyes. “He has a right to know, Mycroft.”

 

John looked at both men much like an angry mother would with her children. “Alright, that’s enough!” he shouted. “What the hell do you mean I have the right to know? What don’t I know?”

 

Mycroft looked back at him in annoyance. “Do not raise your voice at us, you mundane.”

 

John was visibly shaking with anger. “Mundane?! You come into my flat without permission, like you own the whole god damn world or something, and you have the balls to insult me? I. Don’t. Think. So!” John raised his hands in front of him as if to shove him aside, but he stood his ground as a great force pushed Mycroft against the wall. His shoulders hit the plain wall with a loud thump, making him wince.

 

Sherlock reacted quickly, shoving John to the side to break his focus. Mycroft slumped forward, the unseeing constraints holding him back had been cut down. Sherlock gripped John’s arms tightly, a look of concern in the now feline-like eyes. “John, look at me.” The familiar demanded. John complied and, just as Sherlock feared, looked back at him with eyes glazed over with a violet shear. John clenched his jaw and, using the same force on Mycroft, sent Sherlock flying back. Sherlock managed to catch himself against the desk.

 

“John,” Sherlock huffed. “You need to calm down. You don’t want to do this, John.”

 

“You’re threatening me.” John growled.

 

Sherlock held up his hands submissively, “No one is threatening you, John.” He took a caution step closer and, much to his relief, John didn’t react. Mycroft grunted as he stood up from where he was standing drawing John’s attention. “John.” Sherlock called to draw John’s attention back to him and away from his brother. It didn’t work.

 

Mycroft leaned against the wall to support himself. He looked over at Sherlock, a worried expression that mimicked Sherlock’s own. “I apologize, John.” The older familiar said softly looking to John. “I was out of line to say that.”

 

John raised his hands up toward Mycroft again. “Threat.” John’s voice was becoming distorted, darker.

 

With John occupied on Mycroft, Sherlock took the opportunity to get behind John. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John’s throat, cutting off the mans air. John held his own, doing is his best to throw Sherlock off of him. Sherlock began to murmur gentle promises into John’s ear, calming the struggling men. As soon as John went limp in his hold, Sherlock brought him gently down to the floor. “Are you okay?” Sherlock asked, looking up at his brother worriedly.

 

“I’m fine.” Mycroft muttered, straightening himself up. He stared at John for a long while, a look of disgust and fury crossing his expression. John looked away tiredly, unable to meet it.   
  
“I’ve had a change in thought.” Mycroft said slowly, turning his attention back to his little brother. “You need to get that- that thing under control. If you’re so desperate for a companion, then here you are. It’s your risk, brother.”

 

Sherlock flashed him a sly grin, as if letting him know that he had gotten his way. “It would be my pleasure.” He said, “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve had an out of control companion.”

 

Mycroft gazed at Sherlock pointedly, “I had assumed you had learnt your lesson last time. I’ll be checking in from time to time now, so don’t you worry. I won’t be surprised when I find your shredded corpse on the floor.”

  
“You’re so over dramatic, Mycroft. If anything I’d be shot.” Sherlock waved his hand absently and moved back to John. Mycroft scowled, knowing well he wouldn’t get anywhere with this pointed discussion, and walked out the door without another word, leaving Sherlock tending over his new and distraught companion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John check out Baker St. and the games begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not dead, sorry it took an insanely long time to finish this chapter but I promise it won't take that long next chapter!

A day had passed since the incident with Sherlock’s older brother, Mycroft. John didn’t remember attacking Mycroft at all, his head still rather fuzzy regarding the incident. Sherlock had assured him no harm had come to Mycroft, but John still felt horrible about it. He had mentally beaten on himself because he had lost control of himself. ‘I have to stay focused. I can’t lose control like that ever again, I could have seriously hurt that man.’ John had scolded himself.

Sherlock had stayed with him most of yesterday, making sure John was stable enough to be left alone. It made him feel like such a burden, like a sick child who couldn’t take care of himself. He was better now though; John had even agreed to go and look at 221B Baker St.  with Sherlock later this afternoon, but now John was sitting at his laptop in his small flat looking up this Sherlock Holmes. A website titled The Science of Deduction popped up, and he clicked the link, not exactly sure what to expect when the page loaded.

It was a simple enough website, easy to navigate through, John thought. Hardly any of it made sense to him, however, it was impressive. Very impressive. Brilliant, even. John took a sip of his tea and thought about Sherlock. The man was very smart, and well kept, a bit of a loner, but then so was he. Odd was another word to describe him: Sherlock was calm yet fidgety during his stay with him, like he needed to be put to work to keep his mind off something- a secret?

‘Well, everyone had secrets- I have secrets.’ John thought and he pondered over what Sherlock’s could be.

Time drew near to meet Sherlock at Baker Street, so John made himself presentable and took a cab. As John was about to knock on the door, Sherlock seemingly appeared out of no where and called his name. “John.” the tall man greeted, extending his hand out for John to shake. John did so politely with a small nod. “Shall we?” Sherlock said while unlocking the door, leading John up to a cozy flat.

He was brought into the parlor first; the different wallpapers clashed in a rather unattractive way, papers and boxes littered the room. ‘He must not have moved in too long ago.’ John thought as he looked around. “It’s very nice. After everything is cleaned up it’ll be quiet cozy.” He said with a small smile.

Sherlock nodded, “Yes I suppose I could move these downstairs…” he murmured mostly to himself. He looked worried. John wondered if he was even interested in making an impression. “Would you like me to show you around, or…?”

“It’s nice. I’ll take it.” John said suddenly, making Sherlock glance back at him in surprise at the sudden decision.

“You should meet Mrs. Hudson, then. She’d love to meet you.”

Just as John was about to say something there was a soft knock on the door and an elderly woman stepped inside. “Sherlock,” She greeted cheerily crossing the room and giving him a quick hug, “you should've told me you were having company, I could have tidied up a bit.”

Sherlock smiled warmly at the older women and apologized before introducing her. “This is Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. Mrs. Hudson this is, John Watson.”

John held out his hand and she timidly shook it with a gentle smile on her face. “It’s nice to meet you.” John greeted.

“So, John, there’s an extra room upstairs if you’ll be needing it.” She gave John a not so subtle wink.

John cleared his throat, a deep blush creeping across his face. “O-Of course we’ll be needing two.”

“So it’s settled then?” Sherlock said questioningly.

“Is what settled?” John asked.

“You’re taking the room, aren’t you?” he asked.

John grinned and nodded, “I suppose I am.”

“Oh, lovely!” Mrs. Hudson chirped gleefully. “I’ll go get the paperwork to sign and it’ll be settled.” The lady walked back out of the room and downstairs.

Sherlock turned promptly toward John, a tight smile on his lips. “I’m glad you’ve decided to take the room, John. I feel like we could be a great team, should you decide to tag along.”

John raised a curious brow, “Tag along where, exactly?”

“I work - well, I consult - with the police on cases they’re too thick to figure out themselves.” He explained. A small ‘ping’ of a phone sounded from the familiar's pocket and he checked it quickly. “It would seem they’re on their way now.” Sherlock mumbled.

“You work with the police? I would have never thought.” John commented. Sherlock seemed to be the one who'd be in trouble with the police rather than helping, judging by the lab equipment he could see in the kitchen anyway. It seemed like a health hazard and not too legal as well, but then, John wasn’t a chemist, he was a doctor.   

Sherlock shot him a slight glare but didn’t say anything back to John. Instead, he sent off a text to someone and put his phone back in his pocket. Shortly after that, John could hear the front door open and footsteps rushed up the stairs. “Sherlock.” A grey and black peppered haired man greeted.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Sherlock greeted soberly. “How’s Mycroft doing?” he asked, a tiny hint of concern in voice.

“Fine.” Lestrade answered and then glanced at John, just noticing his presence. He stepped back and quickly put his hand on his gun holster, “What’s he doing here?” The Detective Inspector barked.

John stepped back, his arms raised up with a horrified expression on his face. “He’s my new flatmate, Lestrade. Please do put your gun away- I can’t afford to go looking for another one.” Sherlock said smugly.

“Flatmate? God, he almost kills your brother and you’re gonna live with him?” Lestrade drew his hand away from the gun and crossed his arms across his chest. John thought he resembled an angry father looking disapprovingly at his daughter's choice of boyfriend.

“Oh please, Lestrade, Mycroft barely got a scratch on him. He even had all that cushion to help soften the blow.”

“Sherlock Holmes, you are such a child!” Lestrade growled. He took a calming breath and shook his head. “Whatever, I don’t have time for this. Are you coming?”

Sherlock nodded, a wide grin on his face. “Not in a car, I’ll take a cab.”

“Right, well don’t be too long.” Lestrade turned to John, his brown eyes surprisingly cold. “And you,” he pointed at John, “better not pull anything like that again, got me?” He snipped.

John nodded, “Y-Yes, sir.” John frowned feeling extremely guilty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t like he meant to do.

“Right then, gotta go.” Lestrade said and exited the building promptly without another word.

Sherlock turned to John and gave a slight shrug. “Sorry about that, he’s a bit overbearing at times. He means well, I promise.” The detective apologized. “Well just make yourself at home, I’ll be back in a few hours, hopefully.” With that said Sherlock.

John took a deep a breath and shook his head, “What have you gotten yourself into, John?” he asked himself as he looked around the sitting room. Sherlock had a lot of old, leather bound, and first edition books. The eccentric man also had a variety of collectables and antiques. ‘A bit of a pack rat, this cat is.’ John thought as he looked at all the boxes.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson walked in with a manilla envelope and a pen. “What was all that ruckus up here?” She asked worriedly. “I hope Sherlock hasn’t gotten into trouble again.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Um, a man named Lestrade stopped by with a case for Sherlock, I guess.” John explained softly. “They got into a bit of a bickering match.”

“Well, that’s Sherlock for you. Always has to get the last word in.” She chuckled and handed John the envelope.

John took the papers and began to look them over when Sherlock came rushing back up the stairs. “Forget something?” John asked.

Sherlock smiled at him; a smile that John thought looked a bit mad but it still suited his well structured face. “You were an army doctor, in afghanistan if I remember. You must have seen a lot of death in your time there. Lots of injuries.”

John scoffed, of course he had. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. “Yes, I have.” Jonn answered. “Too much, far too much for a life time.”

The detective hummed, scanning him with calculating eyes. “Would you like to see some more?”

John rose from his seat, a somewhat bewildered expression on his face. “You want me, an ex army doctor who has PTSD, to go with you on a case to see more death?”

“Well when you put it that way-”

“Yes. I’ll help you.” John said bluntly.

“I knew you’d say yes.” Sherlock said smugly. “We’ll be back later tonight, Mrs. Hudson. The papers will be signed by  tomorrow afternoon, I promise.” Sherlock gave her a quick hug and went back down stairs. John followed him shortly after.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take note that this fic will probably no longer be following the show strictly like it has the past few chapters. References to dialogue and situation will be more subtle from now. I know that a lot of people prefer fics that follow the show with a few changes, so I felt the need to tell that this not more those fics.  
> Also, case ideas are very much appreciated, not saying I will use all case idea but all will be considered. 
> 
> Kudos and Comments help out a lot. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it to the end.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically just a crime scene and case chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know chapter updates are taking forever and I'm sorry about that. School and a bunch of personal reasons are to blame there, but I'm doing better now that school is over for summer. Updates shouldn't take that long now because I currently only have three, including this one, fics I'm working on right now and one of them is almost over so yeah... 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

John and Sherlock sat in the cab for a few minutes in silence before John finally broke it. “So, is this your main source of income, or is this more a side job?”

“I don’t get paid, I do this because I need to.” Sherlock answered stiffly.

“Oh, so what exactly is your job then?” he inquired.

“From the little cases that occasionally pass me by from strangers on my website, or phone. Silly little cases, mostly affairs and stolen goods, very rarely a murder that doesn’t get to the police.”

“I see. You’ve done this for how long?”

“If you count my very first case, I’ve done this since I was eight.”

“Eight?” John said in awe; when he was eight he was focused on playing games and school. “Bloody hell, you must be the smartest man I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not. You’ve met one other who may surpass my own intellect, and you threw him against a wall.” Sherlock chuckled. John was surprised how deep even his laugh was. It was almost sinister.

It took nearly two hours by cab to get to Herbert Art Gallery & Museum in Coventry with all the traffic.

John stayed close to Sherlock, who seemed to know his way pretty well already. When they got to the police tape and the lovely looking, dark skined, police women stood by a car. She rather unpleased to see Sherlock. "What are you doing here?" She sneered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "You know why I'm here, Sally." Sherlock pulled up the tape and walked beneath it. John followed.

"Who’s this?" The women, Sally, asked.

"He's my assistant."

She scoffed in disbelief, "How do you get an assistant?"

"Well, seeing as you're all so keen to help me, I've decided to get one to help speed things along." Sherlock growled. "Come on, John." He added as he began to walk away. John quickly followed after so he wouldn't be left behind.

A man fully dressed in a blue PPE, came outside the building. "Don't go mucking up my crime scene, Holmes." The man growled at Sherlock.

John was so shocked with how rudely these people behaved to someone trying to help them. Sherlock leered at the man before sneering, "You should stay away from Donovan, Anderson. Her deodorant isn't cutting for you."

The man, Anderson, grumbled something and John could hear, but Sherlock seemed to be able to because he pulled a face before pushing on.

The scene of the crime was in front of several paintings done by John Atkinson Grimshaw. John would have like to view the beautiful landscapes more closely if not for the bodies laying in front of them. Two bodies to be exact; one woman and one man.

“The women is Beatrice White, an art authenticator who works for the Herbet Art Gallery, died roughly four hours ago, a few hours after closing for the day. The man is Xavier Wellington, he worked as a Janitor.” Lestrade said to Sherlock. “Now, the reason you’re here is because Mr. Wellington here has been for the past two months. If you can explain to me how he got here, and why his prints are all over the murder weapon, that would be sensationally helpful.” He gave Sherlock a hard pat on the back and walked away to let him do what is it was he did.

Sherlock gracefully crouched near the males body, pulling out a small microscope to examine him. “Do you notice anything odd about Mr. Wellington’s body John?” he asked looking up at the doctor.

“Oh, um…” John looked over the body, it certainly didn’t look like he had been dead for two months. “The body isn’t decayed enough for it to have been dead for two months.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Sherlock said with a proud smile. “It also doesn’t look like he was in a car accident.” Sherlock pulled on a pair of gloves before gently poking and moving Mr. Wellington’s body. He hummed and pulled out a small scope looking at the back of his neck.

“What is it?” John inquired.

“There’s an odd marking here. It’s not a tattoo or a birthmark, but it’s definitely his skin.” Sherlock said and pointed for John to have a look. John raised his brows at the mark. It looked like a tattoo to him, but it felt off. He couldn’t explain it, but he could feel something cold and dark seeping from the mark.

“Very strange…” John said, moving away from the man body and looking at the woman's. He didn’t feel anything coming off of her; no strange sensation or anything like he felt from Wellington’s.

“I think I know what happened here.” Sherlock muttered to himself and binned his gloves. John was quick to follow him over to where Lestrade was. “Mr. Wellington did indeed kill Mrs. White while he was dead. The defensive wounds found on Mr. Wellington’s body were inflicted post mortem. Mrs. White is an illegal art dealer, I assume she made a few enemies in her line of work and whomever that enemy may be, used Mr. Wellington to kill her. Also, the two of them were having an affair before his accident.” He explained quickly, keeping his voice low so Lestrade, and John, were the only ones who could hear.

“Brilliant.” John said suddenly.

Sherlock gave him a surprised and confused look. “I’m sorry?”

John blushed slightly and cleared his throat nervously. “Sorry, it’s just I would have never guessed you could figure all that out so suddenly. I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no.” Sherlock interrupted with a grin. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, get a room,” Lestrade huffed, “this is a crime scene, not a bar.” The D.I. got a form and handed it Sherlock. “Fill that out and send it over or drop it by your brother’s tomorrow.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took the form, but he gave Lestrade an odd look. “Why would my brother want this?” He asked holding up the form.

“He doesn’t, I do. I’m just saying if you don’t send in the mail just drop off at your brother’s when you get over there.” Lestrade said promptly.

“What’s going on tomorrow?” Sherlock asked.

Lestrade carded a hand through his hair in flustration. “We planned this dinner last week, Sherlock. You are coming, and I guess John is too.” He gave John a rather untrusting look. “And before you asked, yes- you have dress nice, Sherlock.”

“I always dress nice.” Sherlock sneered back.

The D.I. rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Yeah, okay. Just don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sherlock said very sarcastically before turning heel and walking off to the main road to hail a cab. John felt rather like a dog following its master as he tried to keep up with Sherlock everywhere.

When they got into the cab, John turned to Sherlock, “So we’re having dinner at your brother’s tomorrow?”

Sherlock shrugged, “I guess. He likes to have them every so often, says he’s trying to keep up connections or something like that.”

John wondered what he was going to wear to Mycroft’s. He had nice clothes sure, but nothing very impressive. Sensing his discomfort, Sherlock glanced back at John. “Don’t worry- although he prefers formal, there will only be the few of us there. Besides, I wasn’t planning on dressing up for some dull social gathering.”

 **  
**John smiled up at the familiar, surprised at how well the day went. For the first time in ages, he managed to feel alive again. Perhaps having a familiar wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** PPE = A type of forensic suite so you don't contaminate the crime scene. Anderson wore one in A Study in Pink


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and family drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm gonna try and get back on schedule with fic updates so maybe soon you'll get two chapters a month instead of just one but we'll just have to see.  
> Enjoy the long chapter :)

John kept fussing with his clothes as time for their dinner with Mycroft approached. “For the last time, John,” Sherlock sighed dramatically, “you look fine. Honestly, it’s not like we’re dining in public tonight.”

“I know.” John bit back, smoothing out his shirt. “I didn’t make such a good first impression, so I want to try and look decent tonight. He seems like one to indulge in the finer things.”

“Oh he is John, make no mistake of it. But don’t worry, he thinks most people are beneath him anyway, so I honestly doubt he’ll care what you wear."

John sighed defeated and ceased playing with his clothes. He still felt very underdressed, and compared to what Sherlock was wearing, a nice mauve colored button up with a vest and a jacket and pressed trousers, he practically looked ragged.  He looked over at Sherlock and decided to try and keep his mind off of his wardrobe by asking some questions he’d had for the busy detective. “So, exactly how do you become my Familiar anyway? Is there a ceremony or ritual or something like that?”

Sherlock glanced away from his phone and he gave John a bland expression. “Yes, there’s a ritual you have to preform. I have Mycroft making up a contract for us, which is probably the only reason why you’re allowed to come this dinner tonight.”

“Oh.” John looked down at his shoes, shifting from foot to foot. “And, uh, what do I have to do during the ritual?”

“You cut your hand with ceremonial blade, I drink the blood, we utter a few words, I then cut my hand and you drink from me and then again we utter a few words and vuala. I’m your Familiar and you’re my guardian.”  Sherlock said in his bored voice. He checked his watch and pursed his lips. “We should get going.”

With that the detective grabbed his coat and scarf and waited for John to get his coat so they could leave. John gave him a funny look, “Are you serious? We have to do that? Is that safe?” The doctor asked as he grabbed his coat.

“Of course, I’ve done it before. Mycroft did it with Lestrade” Sherlock said getting into the cab. He waited for John to get seated before continuing. “They’ve been married almost three years now.”

John cocked an eyebrow at him, he hadn’t sensed any magic from the Detective Inspector while with him. “But he’s not…” he looked at the cab driver and then back to Sherlock, “y'know, is he?”

“No, he’s not.” Sherlock answered curtly. “He does however have it bloodline. He’s actually a descent from John Dee. Not that it really matters, regular humans can have familiars too.”

John nodded slowly, taking in the new information. “There’s a lot I have to learn.”

“Clearly.” Sherlock huffed.

The rest of the ride was mostly silent, asides from the occasional questions about Mycroft that were generally answered with a single word. When they arrived, John expected to see an extremely elegant, castle-like home. Instead, he found more of a modern mansion in what appeared to be a quiet neighbourhood for the elderly.

“Is this…?”

“Obviously.” Sherlock sighed and looked down in annoyance, as if the very grass he stood on upset him. Sherlock sighed heavily and walked to the door, “Let’s get this over with quickly.” The detective gave three quick knocks on the door and it was opened shortly after by Greg.

“Sherlock,” the man greeted with a big smile and short hug, “glad you made it out.” He looked over a John, a weary look in his eyes, but the smile stayed. “Hello John, do come in.” Greg ushered his guests into the living room.

The room was beautiful, with red walls and white lights in a glorious chandelier above their heads. There was even a large flatscreen that John liked.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured as he gazed around the room. Sherlock hardly seemed to notice. His eyes were fixed on the stairs where twenty-eight seconds later Mycroft walked down.

“Glad it’s to your liking, doctor.” Mycroft said lightly, but his eyes were stuck on Sherlock.

“Are we going to eat, or not?” Sherlock said almost defensively. John glanced at Sherlock awkwardly from the rude comment, but Mycroft’s expression didn’t change in the slightest. Instead, his honey coloured eyes turned suddenly a brighter shade and his pupils contracted into slits.

“Patience, brother mine.” The older Holmes bit back. “I thought that we could have a chat first.”

“You’re never one for talking,” Sherlock growled. Mycroft opened his mouth to speak again, but Greg quickly cut him off.

“Let’s just try to have a nice night, shall we?” He sighed, moving closer to Mycroft before wrapping his arms around him lovingly. Sherlock made no move to return the gesture. When it ended Sherlock took a step back and looked at his brother in confusion. “It’s called a hug, in case you’ve deleted that.”

“I know what a hug is.” Sherlock hissed. “I want to leave soon, so can we please get this dinner over with?”

Mycroft gave him a tight smile, “Very well, let’s eat.” Mycroft lead everyone to the dining room. The table already had a large roast displayed on it. John waited to sit down, unsure if it would be considered rude to be first or not since he was the guest. Greg sat down, but the others made no move. John waited for a while before he realised that they were all staring at him. Realising that he was supposed to sit, John took a seat across from Greg, hoping it was the right place to be. Immediately after, Mycroft and Sherlock sat down.

John wanted to ask why he and Greg had to sit first, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Mycroft said something.

“We’ve been thinking of baby names,” he said lightly. “We do try to find something traditional, but-”

“Wait.” Sherlock said, bluntly cutting off his brother. “Mycroft you cannot be serious.” He scoffed rudely. “Don’t you think you’re a little old to be having children?”

“Don’t you think you’re too old to behave like a grumpy six year old?” Mycroft retorted. “There’s nothing wrong with my age; I’m fully capable of carrying a child to term.”

“What about your job?”

“It’s been taken care of, Sherlock. This was carefully planned.” Mycroft frowned at his younger brother. “I thought you’d be happy to find out you’d be an uncle.”

Sherlock went to say something but Greg stood up and interrupted the fight. “Let’s eat, yeah? Full mouths means no talkin’ got it?” He said sternly, glaring at both of the Holmes’. “Bunch of children you both are.” He muttered as he began to fill his plate.

Sherlock scowled while Mycroft sighed deeply, looking down. John could have sworn he saw a flash of regret in his nearly amber eyes. The doctor quickly decided to mind himself when he thought he’d seen Mycroft look at him. He followed Greg’s lead and began putting food on his plate, eating it slowly. The tension gripped the air, and only became even more thick with the following events.

Mycroft reached out towards the bread rolls and Sherlock snickered. Mycroft paused, trying not to react, but Sherlock made the horrible decision to speak again.

“Do you know what pregnancy will do to you, Mycroft? Your ‘diet’ will be wasted.”

Almost immediately, Mycroft stood up furiously. Even Greg jumped at the sudden outburst.

“That’s enough, Sherlock!” Mycroft snapped, “We wanted you to be more apart of this family, but you only ever distance yourself! I’ve tried to be nice so the child could meet his or her uncle, but you’ve become even more of a disgrace! And with the drug habit of yours I will not allow my child-”

“Mycroft, that’s enough.” Greg said cooly, standing up as well. The elder Holmes was shaking, his expression changing from fury to fear almost instantly. Sherlock stared up at him coldly, daring him to speak again. John could only watch in stunned silence as everything suddenly seemed to freeze in that moment.

“Get out.” Mycroft finally whispered, “I don’t want you back here until you sort yourself out.”

Sherlock stood up, suddenly appearing happy. “Excellent! John, let’s go.” he said quickly before swiftly exiting the building.

John looked back at Mycroft, still in shock. “I- I’m sorry, he-”

“Please take care of him, John.” Mycroft said quietly, watching him with an almost pleading expression.

John nodded firmly, “I will, Mycroft. I promise, I’ll help him sort everything. I’ve seen been through something similar with my sister.” John stood up and looked at the floor for a moment before looking back to Mycroft. “Thank you for having me over.” He said before leaving.

He met Sherlock, who was tapping his foot quickly waiting for him, at the front door. John slipped on his coat and gave Sherlock a worried look. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’m fine.” He said as if no argument was just had a few moments ago. “Let’s go.” John just nodded and followed the detective outside. In the back of his mind John was furious at Sherlock’s rudeness at the dinner, but more important was his concern for his familiar.

The ride home was silent and stressed, John was very relieved when they were able to get out of the cramped cab and into their flat. He wanted to talk to Sherlock about what had happened but once the familiar took off his coat and scarf he disappeared into his room, slamming the door.

After a moment of debating whether or not to knock, John did. “Sher-”

“Go away!” He hissed through the door.  

John stood in front of the door determinedly. “It’s okay to talk about how you feel Sherlock. I know I never liked to, but now I’m in therapy and it feels nice to talk someone about things that upset me and such.”

“Go. Away!” Sherlock repeated threateningly behind the door.

“My sister, Harry, she nearly died because of her alcoholism. If I hadn’t stopped by that day she probably wouldn’t have made it.” John could feel tears sting his eyes as he recalled the very incident. “I know what Mycroft is feeling. He’s concerned and scared for you, Sherlock. He probably wonders if he’ll be able to see you again or if maybe one day he’ll read about you papers.”

Suddenly the door flew open and John had to take a step back as a mad Sherlock crowded against the nearest wall. “This has nothing to do with you, John.” He growled threateningly. “If you were smart you’d keep your nose out of other people’s business!”

John gave him a stern look. He’d been to war- Sherlock didn’t really scare him all that much. “It’s my business if you’re endangering yourself, Sherlock! You’re my familiar, right? Shouldn’t I be worried about you too?”

Sherlock’s furious expression broke for a second. He was silent for some time, taking in John’s words. He didn’t seem to relax in the slightest bit, but without warning he suddenly shifted into his feline form and ran back into the bedroom.

“Sherlock!” John called in annoyance, (stepping over the pile of clothes Sherlock had been wearing pervious to the shift) following him into the bedroom. The cat was curled up on the bed, fur bristling with his head tucked away. John went to grab him but the cat jumped up again and hissed, moving backwards quickly when suddenly his blue eyes widened and he fell off the bed in a mess of flailing limbs and fluff. The doctor tried not to laugh when he went to see if he was alright.

The cat had slipped away under the bed, growling loudly. John kneeled down to look at Sherlock, who seemed just fine. “Come out from under there.” He scolded, reaching for the cat. Sherlock batted at John’s hand, scratching it a few time but it hardly drew any blood. “Come here you little bugger!” John growled, trying to get the nape of Sherlock’s neck to drag him from under the bed.

Just when John thought he’d grabbed him, Sherlock twisted and sank his teeth right into John’s hand. “Bloody fuck!” John yelped and pulled his hand back to inspect the bite. It was bleeding and it hurt horribly. The doctor knew he’d have to clean it soon, get some ointment on it and then bandage it up. “Fine,” John said shaking his head, “you have your little fit and when you’re ready we can talk like civilized people.”

John left Sherlock to sulk while he cleaned and bandaged his hand. He was about to take a few pain pills and go bed when there was a knock on the door. John quickly downed the pills with a few swigs of water before he answered the door. It was Mrs. Hudson.

“I heard an awful racket, is everything alright?” She asked worriedly glancing around.

“Oh yeah, everything’s just fine.” John said reassuringly. “Just about to head to bed actually.”

“Did you hear that noise? It sounded like a cat…”

John wasn’t sure if she knew about Sherlock or not so he decided to play it safe. “I didn’t hear anything except for a few products fall off the bathroom sink.” He said quickly. “I get a bit clumsy when i’m tired, knocked a few things down in the bathroom is all.” He gave a short, soft laugh. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Hudson.”

She shook her head and gave an apologetic smile. “No, I’m sorry to keep from going to bed. Good night, John.”

“Good night, Mrs. Hudson.” John said and went to close when the landlady spoke up again.

“I’m glad Sherlock’s got someone like you to look after him. I know how he get sometimes.” She said softly.  “Take care, the both of you.”

John nodded, “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” She then turned and went back downstairs so John shut the door. He sighed relieved and went up to his room. He laid in his bed for about an hour or so before finally falling asleep.

* * *

 

Late that night Sherlock padded up the stairs silently and stealthily slipped into John’s room. He watched the warlock sleep soundly. Once he was sure John was in deep sleep he jumped onto the mattress, his eyes fixed on John.

‘Why did he care so much?’ Sherlock thought to himself. His other companion never cared for him like John did; the man had introduced him to drugs and let Sherlock utterly destroy himself, but John was different - obviously. John was kind but stern when he needed to be - everything Sherlock needed at the moment. John was like beacon for him, but he wasn’t sure why...

The familiar moved up by the pillows, curling up by John’s head. He laid there watching and listening to John breath until he dozed off. He woke up at dawn, John still fast asleep beside him, and he decided to slip back into his own room downstairs before John woke up. The doctor would never know he was ever there that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going more in depth with character's backgrounds and also more into the cultural aspect of the magical community. Things are going to be explained, such as male pregnancies among other, in the next few chapters as well so hopefully questions you have will be answered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) 
> 
> Kudos and comments help out a lot!


End file.
